


11:17

by CleanBandAid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, One Shot, uhh not really major character death because it's 3.11 ep but i'll tag it just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 03:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleanBandAid/pseuds/CleanBandAid
Summary: This is taken place at the part where Sam is trapped in the time loop where Tuesday repeats as his brother, Dean, dies over and over again before his eyes. Somewhere in the loop, Sam have gone slightly insane without his brother to ground him and tried to kill Dean himself...





	11:17

The time passes by slowly, every second seems distorted, merges into the next like thick oil, like heavy blood clinging on his hands, like his brother’s body melting into the concrete. It’s 11:17 am, Tuesday. The twenty third 11:17 am Sam has experienced in a row, to be specific. Even when he has seen Dean’s death for fifty six times (fifty seven, now), he is still not used to the frantic eyes full of desperation and the wheezing breath that dragged out a reaper’s arrival. There is simply no escape.

The mist starts to gather in the distance, hovering over the scene like audience viewing a comedy. Not insane, Sam claims out loud, though there is no longer anyone to hear his broken voice. The wind slowly picks up its speed, clawing at his cloth, as laughter from the tall pines rings loudly in his ears. His eyes are shut now, sore from the pressure applied to the eyelids in an attempt to forget the sinful knife that stained with his brother’s blood, now lying beside his crimson boots. There is simply no escape. He tries to stop the world from spinning like dirty clothes in a dryer as he struggles to deepen his breath, though he only feels regret smashing into his body when the violent metallic smell plunges his lungs. His brother is still in lying in front of him, fighting to remain conscious. Sam cannot meet his eyes. His whimper is lost in the wind. Every tick on the clock seemed to stretch into the distance, into infinity, into nothing. There is simply no escape.

There is no relief washing over him when the last breath stills and the clock turns back.


End file.
